defeat. His ship was shattered under his feet and he fell upon its sinking deck, and we are here a hundred years later to remember and honor him.

So from the perishing of that which is mortal that which is immortal escapes into freedom and life. When we commemorate a man, we show him in some significant attitude, and the solid figure escapes the limitations of mortality and lives in action or achievement. So stands the figure of the great admiral in the square in Venice; so rides the great commander on his march to the sea at the entrance to the park in New York; so moves the young soldier among his Negro troops on the monument on Boston Common, riding serenely to death and fame. The statue must give us the soul of the man or it is mere bronze or marble.

One of the most significant facts about the early history of this continent, so vividly recalled by the celebration of this week and by the picturesque reopening of the book of the past, illuminated like an old missal in the successive pictures of the pageant, is the disparity between the apparent size of things and their real magnitude, between the paucity of the tools and the greatness of the men who used them. In an age of wonderful perfection of tools and instruments, when the measurements of eye must be constantly corrected by the vision of the spirit, we Englishspeaking men and women are tempted to forget that the source of power is never in the instrument, always the man. We are this week commemorating small things handled with faith and courage. We are back at the head-waters of our history, where the streams that feed the wide, swift currents of to-day had their rise in the mountains and in the forests; an age in which faint trails predicted broad highways and little hamlets great cities; an age of immense potentialities and splendid prophecy, the fulfillment of which our ancestors could not see. They worked with the courage of conviction, and

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the harvest of their struggles is ours; let us beware lest we betray them by the fading vision, the declining energy of soul, the passing of faith in man, the coming of faith in things. Machines and instruments are of immense importance, but power is always in men. The great things have been done by daring spirits with inadequate tools. Nelson was always begging for ships and Wellington for troops, but both sleep under the dome of St. Paul's, the mausoleum sacred to the heroic and victorious dead of England. Emerson said long ago that the English are never so great as when they are facing great peri's; and to-day that judgment is magnificently confirmed. Washington was never so wholly the leader as in that winter when intrigue assailed him in the Continental Congress and famine beleaguered him at Valley Forge. Safety lies finally in the indomitable spirit, and national greatness has its seat neither in wealth nor in arms, but in men. This vital truth was never clearer than at this hour in this place. In a minute it is possible to condense the substance of a biography; in a swift deed it is possible to read the story of a life.

On a hill at Port Arthur swept by the fury of war nine years ago the Japanese have built a memorial to the Russian soldiers who fought them over every inch of ground and died in heroic struggle; a chivalrous recognition of a gallant foe.

To-day we honor him whose hand was against us in a struggle from the memory of which all bitterness vanished long ago; who was our foe, but not our enemy; who spoke our common language, to whom the words we teach those who are to lead our armies were dear: Duty, Honor, Country.

In those shining words his biography is written. The wreath we lay upon his grave means nothing to him, but it is our way of saying to the world that we understand and reverence his lofty spirit, his splendid courage.

GOOD MANNERS AND INTERNATIONAL

RELATIONS

In The Outlook of August 22 last we published an article by an American citizen of German parentage, a graduate of Harvard University, in which he attempted to interpret some of the incidental and contributory feelings of the Germans which have led them into their present conflict with almost the whole of the rest of the civilized world. In the course of that article appeared the following passage:

There are, of course, potent though superficial reasons for this general dislike of the German. The average German, whom the foreigner sees, is aggressive, self-assertive, loud in his manner and talk, inconsiderate, petty, pompous, dictatorial, without humor; in a word, bumptious. He has, in many cases, exceedingly bad table manners, and an almost gross enjoyment of his food; and he talks about his ailments and his underwear. His attitude toward women, moreover, is likely to be over-gallant if he knows them a little and not too well, and discourteous or even insolent if he is married to them or does not know them at all. He is at his worst at the time when he is most on exhibition, when he is on his travels or helping other people to travel, as ticket-chopper or customs official. The average European, other than German, coming in contact, sometimes rather violently, with the German I have described, jumps to the conclusion that the bumptiousness and the occasional coarseness are the whole man, when they are actually only the veneer. Your scoffer, be he French, English, Italian, or American, does not, as a rule, have time to discover the calmheadedness behind the quick-tempered exterior, the incorruptible integrity, the loyalty to family, to a cause, or to an ideal, the tender-heartedness, the fine sentiment, the artistic sensibility. The foreigner sees the bad manners, and declares that the German is a boor and not to be reckoned among gentlemen.

The German has felt, not the contempt perhaps, but the suspiciousness, engendered by the misunderstanding. He has felt quite rightly that he has no friends beyond his borders. He has secured his place in the sun for himself, he has traded with the ends of the earth; but he has made no friends. He does not understand why this should be so; he himself is unconscious of the superficial faults which seem to be so annoying to others. He certainly does not realize that foreigners raise their eyebrows at the way he devours his meals. All that he knows is that he has no friends over the border, that his every move is watched with envy and mistrust, and that there is no one to take his part. The German has ever been honest and industrious, seeking to make his way by peaceful means; and he has been galled beyond endurance by an opposition which he did not guess was based largely on a flippant contempt for his table manners.

This passage has brought down upon us an avalanche of correspondence. Some of the correspondents do not appear to realize that the author was endeavoring to get, not at the great fundamental motives of German militarism, but at some of those slight and subtle psychological causes which even scientific sociologists and historians cannot afford to ignore. From the great mass of letters called out by the foregoing criticism we print three, one in defense of German manners, one in utter condemnation of them, and one which points out how futile it is for anybody to get into a passion because his

social customs or habits are attacked. We do not suppose that these letters will settle the question, but, at any rate, they throw some light upon a controversy which has raged in every. epoch of history from the time of Esau to the time of Jefferson Brick.-THE EDITORS.

I-GERMAN COURTESY

The letter from your anonymous, but evidently lovable, German correspondent was an interesting human document. But I believe he was wrong in his impression of our personal antipathy to Germans.

Vulgarity, alas! is world wide. We have plenty of it on our own shores. There are also vulgar Germans, just as there are vulgar French and English. And the extraordinary prosperity of the German Empire has of late years flooded the highways of Europe with a great many Germans who have not got used to their money.

But, besides these, how many charming Germans one meets at home and abroad! May I mention a few examples? Some ten years ago I spent the winter at Taormina, and there I met a coterie of German gentlemen-journalists, officers, Government officials-whose company was a pleasure and a privilege. One was cousin to the King of Wurtemberg, who, I believe, is now in command of an army in Alsace. I trust that none of them have been mowed down on the French frontier.

Some fifteen years ago, on the way from Greece to Cairo, I ran across a German professor-a fine figure of a man, with bushy brown beard and merry blue eyes that gleamed through his gold-rimmed spectacles. A splendid companion he was, sturdy of mind, free from all prejudice, unflinching in his logic, and with a relish for a joke which even surpassed his appreciation of a fine book or a good cigar. With him I spent three delightful days. I have never seen or heard of him since. I hope he was too old to go on the firing line.

Another picture lingers pleasantly in my memory. On the portico of the Schweitzer-Hof at Lucerne, one summer evening after dinner my wife and I were drinking our coffee and listening to the music. Toward the two empty chairs at our table came an old lady and gentleman, both Germans, the wife in black silk with a black lace mantilla over her silvery hair; the husband with heavy brows over kindly gray eyes, with delicate but strong features, and with a square-cut beard snow white. Under his white lawn cravat gleamed a decoration. They moved slowly, for they were very old. The gentleman stepped forward and accosted me. "Pardon me, sir, are these seats engaged ?" I rose and placed the chair for the lady. The gentleman made me a fine, soldierly bow. A

little feeble it was, a little stiff in the shoulders; but seigneurial is a mild word to describe its dignity.

The ladies smiled. We sat down. After a moment the German lady shivered and glanced at her husband. He rose. "Excuse me, sir," said he, "it is a little cold." I rose in turn. Then came the bow once more, and I could do no less than return it. He soon came back with a white shawl, which he adjusted with infinite tenderness about the shoulders of the lady. I rose once more. Again the interchange of bows. Again we took our seats and listened to the music. When we finally rose, we exchanged the same salutes as before. I have never seen that couple since, nor did I speak more than five words with them. Yet I conceived for both a feeling of respect and great good will. I can only hope that neither of them is now alive, to suffer a heartrending anxiety for their fatherland, or to feel bereavement for any dear ones crushed in the wine-press of the war.

Such impressions as these, ordinary enough -I suppose thousands of Americans must have many scores of them-force me to disagree with the belief of your correspondent that Americans are prone to depreciate the Germans. In New England, on the contrary, every college man must realize his debt to the German universities; every lover of the arts and sciences to how much German achievement, to how many venerable German names! Indeed, in New England we have been brought up in a pervading atmosphere of admiration for German culture. It is for these reasons that we have, like Mr. John Long, asserted our friendship for the German people. But the army, the Welt-Politik, the Kaiser's notions as to the divine right of German electors, kings, and emperors-all that is quite another story. It is on these grounds that some of us cannot wholly sympathize with our German friends, however much we may like them personally.

HENRY HARMON CHAMBERLIN. Nantucket, Massachusetts.

II-GERMAN BOORISHNESS

In a recent issue of The Outlook a German-American, in attempting to explain the reasons for the "general dislike of the German," says that "the average German, whom the foreigner sees, is aggressive, self-assertive, loud in his manner and talk, inconsiderate, petty, pompous, dictatorial, without humor; in a word, bumptious." He insists, however, that the bumptiousness and egregious bad manners and coarseness are not the whole man, but only the

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A picnic excursion was suggested by one of my German friends, involving the transportation of two or three baskets containing our lunch. Coming fresh from an American college town, where young men are accustomed to vie with each other in showing courtesies to their girl friends, my surprise may be imagined when it soon became evident that the young German officers, the only men of the party, felt their dignity insulted when one of the American girls suggested, and indeed fully expected, that the men carry the baskets. Not only did the officers refuse with insolent scorn to do so menial a service, which seemed to them an insult to their military standing, but their sisters violently espoused their cause and shouldered the load cheerfully, trudging all day as beasts of burden, thereby saving that precious thing, the officers' unblemished dignity and inalienable right to trample upon the usual courtesies that women expect from gentlemen all over the world. It is needless to say that the excursion was not a success. The American and German girls could not come to any common ground on what seemed to the former so fundamental a breach of etiquette.

The bitter hostility felt by the Germans toward the French especially shows itself sometimes in ways that seem too petty to be believed. On one occasion I was present at a dinner in Berlin given by a prominent resident. (By the way, in order to show the viciousness of his intense anti-French sentiment, the host had had the menus, which are ordinarily printed in French, translated into ponderous German, which made one wonder what new order of indigestible viands were presently to appear.) Opposite me at the table was a German lady, the wife of an officer, who had been ordered by her dictatorial husband on no account nor for any purpose to use the French language, which she spoke fluently. Unfortunately, a Hungarian who was ignorant of German but who spoke French sat next to her. Not daring to disobey the mandate of her husband, she was not able to show the courtesy that is due a stranger in a strange land, and during the entire dinner they sat side by side silent and dumb as oysters.

On still another occasion our party of four women suffered from a group of German officers such insolent public humiliation as to make it necessary to complain to the proprietor of the hotel and demand the expulsion of the offenders or else instant cessation of such conduct. It was also a common experience to be pushed off the sidewalk in the narrow streets when one

I have read with interest the article by the German-American on the prejudices existing against the Germans. I have no doubt that the Germans feel keenly on this point, but they are much mistaken in thinking they have a monopoly of suffering, for race prejudice is everywhere. I pass my life among ordinary Americans, and am often shocked and disgusted to hear the feelings and opinions of other human beings dismissed as trash because they are "Greasers or "Gees," "Japs," " Chinks," "Square Heads," Dutch,' ," "Dagos," or "honion-heatin' Henglish." On the other hand, though I have never left my native land, I am quite aware that we are not the only sinners. Our immigrants do not leave their prejudices at home. A very dear German friend explained to me the American lack of sincerity; an English lady who was calling on me.in a friendly manner told me that there was neither honesty nor honor in America and that a dollar would divide mother and daughter; while a young Greek confided to me his very low opinion of the American girl-" Anybody got candy or flowers is her friend." So I think that, if racial bad manners are any ground for war, the present situation in Europe is mild to what we are entitled to. OLIVIA BEDINGER. Bakersfield, California.

THE GREEKS AND THE TURKS

In The Outlook of August 1, which came to my notice only recently, Rustem Bey, Turkish Ambassador to the United States, had an article entitled "The Crisis Between Greece and Turkey," which purported to give the true reasons for the friction between the two nations. I read and re-read his article, and the sorrow which is mine whenever a new crisis arises between these two nations returned to me. Alas! the true reasons for the never-ending disputes were not the ones Rustem Bey gave, although they may easily be discovered in every paragraph of his article. The spirit of hatred and animosity in which he writes against the Greeks has ever been the attitude of the conquering Turks toward their subject races. Rustem Bey uses the typical language of the Turkish official, and by his language one can see just how the Turk feels toward his Christian subjects.

It is now upward of five hundred years since the tremendous Asiatic hordes, after long and

repeated sieges, at last conquered the Greek Empire, and during these five hundred years the Greeks, have never been treated as equal citizens of the country that was formerly their own. Throughout Rustem Bey's article are to be found such expressions as "the subject Greeks toward their conquerors," and "the Greeks, for their very accommodating masters." The attitude suggested by such sentences is at the bottom of all the trouble between the two nations. The Turks, ever since 1453, have maintained the same arrogant attitude toward the Greeks that the Germans maintained toward the inhabitants of Alsace and Lorraine, with the same result of merely intensifying their bitter patriotism. Had the Turks made the Greeks feel themselves Turkish subjects who enjoyed the same rights and privileges as the Turks, had they been made to feel that they were something better than dirt under the Mohammedans' feet, Turkey to-day would not be composed of so many elements which hate the Government; Turkey might now be a vigorous and flourishing empire instead of one that is heterogeneous and tottering.

Every thinking person can deduce from Rustem Bey's article that, if he permits himself to display such ill feeling before the eyes of the American people, how heavy must be the Turkish hand, armed with the master's whip, when it falls upon his Christian subjects, far from the observation of the Christian world.

Rustem Bey, to strengthen his argument, refers to my last book, "A Child of the Orient." He does not quote from it, but asserts that I "complacently quote many instances of the fanatical or puerile hatred of the Greeks for the very accommodating masters the Turks have been to them." I do not believe that any intelligent person reading "A Child of the Orient" would agree with Rustem Bey that I mention any instances of misunderstanding between Greeks and Turks in a spirit of complacency. Indeed, I mention them with sorrow at the mutual misunderstanding which prevents two races, each possessing admirable, if different, qualities from appreciating and profiting by each other's good qualities.

Since Rustem Bey has used my work to attack my own nation, may I explain why both in "Haremlik" and in "A Child of the Orient " I have resolutely disregarded the bad side of the Turk, and dwelt only on his admirable side? I had a definite purpose: I believe that the only way to bring about universal peace among the differing nations of the world is by promoting a feeling of genuine brotherliness among them. If from childhood we were taught to consider the good points of other peoples, we should grow up without the terrible handicap of ingrained and inherited hatred against races other than our own. To the world at large the Turk is "unspeakable." I was in a

position very few Christians were in to know the gentler side of the Turks. If what my readers tell me is true, it was a revelation to the majority of Americans that the Turks had a side to admire-even to love. If I have been able to bring before the reading world a true picture of all that is best in the Turks, then I have succeeded in my mission. But, considering what I have tried to do for his nation, it is hard for Rustem Bey to attack mine by misrepresenting the spirit of my books.

Rustem Bey's article tends only to do harm, by stirring up afresh the hatred that exists between the two nations. It has failed to tell the truth to the Americans, since no person actuated by hatred can give a just picture of racial differences. DEMETRA VAKA.

[The writer of this letter is a Greek by birth, but an American by marriage and residence. She is the author of two very unusual books, recently published, which contain delightful and illuminating pen pictures of Greek and Turkish life. In "A Child of the Orient" Demetra Vaka portrays her childhood in Constantinople and its environs. One of the sketches of this book, our readers will remember, was published in The Outlook of Febuary 21 last, under the title of "Ali Baba, My Caique-Tchi." The other volume, "Haremlik," describes the life of the Turkish wife and mother in the harem. The book is as absorbing as a novel-indeed, it is a group of little novels woven together into one book. Those Americans who believe that polygamy is wholly sordid and deadening will get an astonishingly new view of the Turkish woman, who regards polygamous marriage as a divine ordinance. Demetra Vaka, it is true, as she herself says in this letter, writes partly, though not chiefly, for the purpose of promoting a better international understanding between the Far Occident and the Near Orient. But this underlying purpose does not destroy her pronounced gifts as a first-class story-teller, and her two books ought to be read widely as stories of absorbing human interest if for no other reason.-THE EDITORS.]

AUTOMOBILES AND SAFETY FIRST

Permit me to thank you heartily for the editorial in The Outlook of August 29 giving the five "Safety First" suggestions to automobile drivers furnished by the National Council for Industrial Safety. My own practice as an automobile driver exactly corresponds with the directions given.

I cannot but wish that you could reach all the people outside of automobiles with equally wise regulations for their conduct on public thoroughfares. If your space will allow, I beg to

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submit the following incidents in my own recent driving:

1. Turning off from Main Street in our city, I sounded my horn and drove slowly to pass between two men who had met and passed each other on the crosswalk of the street into which I was going. Suddenly one of the men turned to overtake the man he had just met, and sprang in front of my car about a yard from the engine. My loud yell and his quick tango just saved a bad accident.

2. A few days later, turning off Main Street again, two women, concealed from my view by a truck, stepped briskly upon the crosswalk, talking fast and walking fast, but not looking either way. I sounded my horn and widened my circuit to pass in front of them, but they were walking as fast as my machine was running. I shouted, "Take care there!" but they did not even then deign to look, but walked directly in front of my car. To avoid them I steered for the curb, surmounted it, and ran down the sidewalk in front of them.

3. Passing through a residence street in the evening, with my lamps burning, I saw children in the middle of the street. I ran very slowly, and at the sound of my horn they scattered, leaving a three-year-old boy directly in my path, who stood still and threw up his hands, charmed by the bright lights on my machine. I shouted and rounded the baby safely, while a piercing scream came from his mother, who dashed to his rescue just as I had safely passed.

4. One day I drove out to my birthplace, situated on the State road midway between Auburn and Syracuse. The farm-house stands in a valley between two steep hills. To climb either hill without changing gear an automobile must pass the house rapidly. In mid-forenoon or afternoon automobiles pass at average intervals of one or two minutes. I stopped in front of the house for a moment's chat with the tenantfarmer's wife. She said, "We had a rather serious accident here this morning. My threeyear-old baby was playing near the engine of the threshing-machine standing there by the roadside. He ran out from behind the engine just as an automobile came down the hill, and, to avoid hitting him, the driver collided with the engine, injuring himself quite badly." And while the farmer's wife was speaking the baby was again playing around the engine as though nothing had happened!

Agreeing with your statement that many unoffending people are killed by reckless driving, I at the same time believe that some offending people are killed in spite of the most careful driving. CRANDALL J. NORTH.

Auburn, New York.